


The Daroga, a bottle of absinthe and a broom

by Mazen



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bad Smut, Don't Read This, It's so very wrong, M/M, Other, Poor Daroga, rarepairs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 13:08:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18917665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mazen/pseuds/Mazen
Summary: Nadir has had a rough day. No, a rough year. He goes to visit Erik and drown his sorrows.





	The Daroga, a bottle of absinthe and a broom

**Author's Note:**

> Based on tumblr prompt PotO Rarer Pairs and born from an abhorrent mind. I'm sorry.

Nadir kicked off his wet shoes in the doorway. They went flying into the wall, but it didn't bother him. It was after all Erik's fault for flooding the passageway with ankle deep sewage water; the passageway _he knew_ was the only one Nadir used. It wasn't a coincidence. Nothing the Angel of Death, now Opera Ghost did was without meticulous planning and execution.

It had been a bad day. The captain of the gendarmerie had once again ignored his ideas on a case and turned his head when the others began to question Nadir's intelligence, commenting that darker skin showed a lack of brain activity. It was ridiculous; he was much brighter than any of them there and though they never admitted it, his consultation led to more solved cases and captured criminals.

It wasn't easy to be a foreigner in Paris. The Parisians had a strange way of deeming themselves more worthy than the rest of humanity; a trait he had met before, but never in such an arrogant way. Perhaps it was like that in all of France - he had never delved deeper into the country that existed outside of the city - but if that was the case, he didn't blame Erik for fleeing the country.

But he blamed Erik for returning. For where Erik went, Nadir couldn't help but follow.

He threw himself into the love seat in the sitting room. Erik wasn't here; if he had been, he would've greeted his supposed friend at the door, no doubt with a snark remark. However the steady fire in the hearth was a sure sign that he'd be back soon. Even with his interest in the workings of the opera above, Erik still spent most of his days below in his house.

He and Nadir both lived lonely lives and yet, they stayed apart, despite the possibility of seeking companionship in each other. It was silly, really, that they couldn't just be normal friends, but Nadir knew that Erik didn't know much about normalcy. And he rejected every attempt Nadir made at creating some sense of it.

But Nadir didn't truly mind. Whatever it was between him and Erik, it was more significant than a normal friendship and he treasured it. He couldn't deny that he wanted more; he had wanted to be closer to Erik ever since Persia when he had realized the depth of Erik's despair. One that in some ways matched Nadir's own. At least that's what he thought at the time. Now he found himself in a foreign country, looking different than everyone else, being judged by his appearance, with only one confidant; he was aware now how Erik had felt in Persia.

Hit by another wave of hopelessness, he decided to seek out what he originally came here for: Spirits. Being a devout Muslim, his manservant Darius always frowned upon Nadir if he did something that wasn't approved of in Islam. Nadir had been the same, once, but his life had taken unexpected turns that had made him question his faith. Which is why he needed liquor.

Erik usually had plenty of it, but after searching his liquor cabinet and then his kitchen, the only things Nadir found was an empty bottle of bourbon and too much wine; Nadir never drank wine. It didn't raise his spirit fast enough and he would always have a pounding head the next day.

Nadir stalked into Erik's bedroom with the intent of finding his morphine. He loathed drugs, but desperate times called for desperate needs. He went searching for the little wooden box where Erik kept his vials and syringes, avoiding glancing at the macabre coffin with the lid that bore Erik's name. Then he came upon a transparent flask with green liquid inside: _Absinthe_ , it said,  _Alcool épicé aux herbes._  

Spicy herbal liquor was exactly something Nadir needed right now and he barely smelled it before taking a big swig directly from the bottle. 

The taste was bitter and definitely spicy. But Nadir was used to the latter; the food of his home country was after all spicy as well. He took another swig and then another. It quickly began to taste bland which only caused him to drink more. He fell into an armchair in Erik's bedroom, staring at the coffin while numbing his thoughts. 

The coffin was morbid; a trait he knew well from Erik. It had only gotten worse as he had aged and grown more cynical. Nadir glanced around the room, to take in the small items gathered on the shelves covering every wall. Much of them small jewelry boxes or figurines that he recognized from his own country, but there were also many things that Erik must've found on his travels through the rest of the world.

He was such an enigma. Would anyone ever come to understand the sensitive mind that lay beneath the pained and mad genius? Nadir certainly tried, but was constantly pushed away.

Nadir rose from his seat and found that the world had taken on a blurry glow. He began humming to the buzz in his mind. For a moment he contemplated lying down in the coffin and hopefully wake up with Erik next to him; a smile on the death's head. Oh, what he would do to experience that. But it was an unlikely dream.

He wandered into the music room and looked through the hundreds sheets of music scattered on every surface of the room. He couldn't sight read and really didn't have a musical bone in his body, but he always appreciated Erik's passion for it. The red spidery writings were as familiar as Nadir's own writing. He rubbed a few pages on his lips, the smell of paper reminding him of Erik's scent.

In a haze he moved to the work room next door, his dazed eyes looking at the mess on the work table. There were different wigs, all long and curly blonde. Nadir barked out a laugh when he imagined Erik with such hair. Hopefully he was just going to cut, straighten and color the fake hair, so it matched the wig he already wore. Why he wore it, Nadir never understood. No one ever saw Erik, besides Nadir himself and he didn't mind the ghastly exterior anymore; he had actually become fond of it.

On the work top he also found a strange material: It was a pale grey color, much like Erik's face and felt somewhat like skin. It bent easily. He wondered what Erik would do with this. Was it for a different mask?

Turning around he came face to face with Erik, standing behind the door: His body covered in a dark silken robe, his face and scalp bare. Nadir had expected that the man would be angry when he discovered that his so-called friend was searching his private rooms, but instead his expression was oddly blank, his body rigid and unmoving.

But he recognized his friend by the thin grey skin, the eyes lying in hollow sockets, the pale lips and the missing nose.

 

 

> The Daroga neared his dangerous friend, not aware that it was the skeleton of an unfinished mannequin. Erik had already added the first layer of the skin which was made from rubber; the only material, he could find, that felt a bit like soft skin. Much like the skin of a pale, Swedish soprano would feel. He had not yet added a nose, since it was hard to form the perfect shape to match the real woman's nose. The rubber and her glass eyes had not yet been pained the right colors either; it was a work in progress. But to the drunk and possibly hallucinating Daroga, it looked much like Erik lurking in the shadows like he usually did.

  
He neared the figure as casually as he dared and clearly heard Erik's voice loud in his head:  _What are you doing here, Daroga?_

"I came to drown my sorrows. And despite your best attempts to hide it, I found proper spirits." Nadir held up the half empty bottle of absinthe for the skeleton to see. He felt Erik's fierce eyes travel the length of his worn old body, yet the eyes remained unmoving. A shiver passed through Nadir.  _Was that all you came for, Daroga?_

Nadir moved closer to Erik. The Angel of Death didn't feel as intimidating as usual and it made him much braver. "Perhaps I needed to see you." He was only half a metre from the robed, lean body that towered above him. Erik had always been obscenely tall.

 

 

> He didn't notice that the figure was standing on a platform to ease the process of adding skin to the lower parts of it. It wasn't good for Erik's back to crouch down more than he already did when wandering around his passageways and he couldn't turn the mannequin upside down when working on the legs because it would destroy the direction of the warmed rubber when he applied it.

 

Nadir's body shivered when Erik's dark voice boomed in his mind:  _I think you needed me._ He couldn't deny the statement; it was true. Whenever Nadir was overcome with lust, it wasn't a beautiful woman or even a handsome man that flooded his mind. It was the skeleton form with a hideous face, the very one standing before him.

"I did." He whispered and lifted his hand to wrap around Erik's cold neck. When Erik didn't draw away from him, he rose to his toes and pulled the face before him down to meet his lips. Erik staggered into Nadir and things clattered behind him, but all Nadir noticed was the thin and unyielding lips that felt much like the man's personality. 

 

 

> The mannequin was pulled down from the platform and landed uneasy on the floor. The Daroga's hold stabilized it. A broom, that had rested on the wall behind the mannequin, was knocked over and the shaft landed between the figure's legs.

 

Feeling a rigorous hardness against Nadir's own arousal, he let out a moan. Erik desired him as well! How he longed to feel the proof bare before him! He pulled back from the kiss and found Erik's eyes on him. He felt a resonating pounding in the thin chest against his own.

Without looking away from Erik's gaze, Nadir spit in his hand and parted the robe where he found the hard rod and grasped it tightly. A moan filled the room and he wasn't sure if it was from Erik or himself.

His manhood was thin, but long like the rest of Erik's body. The skin there was stretched thin; nearly non-existing, Nadir thought, but the thought only excited him further. Erik was unlike any other human. Why should his manhood be any different than the rest of him? 

He stroked the hard shaft, sometimes bumping it into his own arousal. Erik's eyes didn't leave his, but he had to close his own as pleasure washed over him every time they came into contact. Yet, he needed more. _Yes_ , Erik's voice whispered in his ear. 

His hand let go of Erik's cock and quickly he unbuckled his trousers and slid them down with his drawers. He turned around and once again spit in his hand before reaching behind him to find the unyielding hardness. His spit could work as lubricant. It would hurt, he knew, but the liquor had made him brave and halfway numb. He wanted it to hurt, with Erik. He had always known that it would.

Slowly he pushed back as Erik's cock began to enter him. The pain was unbearable, yet everything Nadir needed. He cried out at the invasion as his muscles gave way for the largeness penetrating him, but he didn't pull away. He needed this; Erik had known it.

 

 

> The other end of the broom stood on the floor by the wall, suspended in such a way that even the pressure of the Daroga's weight wouldn't move it. 

 

Finally he felt Erik's robe and sharp hips meet his buttocks, telling him that he had taken in all of that long cock. Slowly they began to move. Nadir was so eager that he moved as well, easing the act for both for them. Erik didn't hold onto his hips. Perhaps it was Erik's way of letting Nadir know that he could always pull away and he appreciated that. Erik would never do something like this against anyone's will. And this was very consensual.

Nadir's hand grasped his own shaft and began to stroke himself in the same pace as Erik thrust into him. The pain had completely evaporated; only pleasure remained and he moaned loudly as he was filled again and again. Moans and their labored breathing was the only sound in the room, along with the slide of flesh.

 

 

> The mannequin stood motionless as the Daroga moved himself up and down the shaft of the broom. The sound of his hard gasping and moaning echoed in the room as he vigorously rubbed his own manhood. 

 

Nadir began to feel himself near his climax and he called out to Erik: "I'm so close. Please, don't stop! Ah, God!" He feared that Erik was cruel enough to stop, pull out and leave him a blubbering mess of lust, but instead the thrusting became rougher. Erik must be close as well.

That thought along with the bruising impalement made Nadir's cock swell in his hand and in a howling cry, he unleashed hus seed on the Persian carpet. Erik stilled behind him, his cock as far inside Nadir as it could go. He was quiet as always, even in the thrones of passion.

Nadir felt dizzy from the overwhelming climax; he had never come so hard in his life. The absinthe still flowed in his veins, the blurry edges of his eyes turning black. When Erik pulled out of him, he staggered forward and landed on the carpet. He passed out instantly.

* * *

 

Erik came back after another lesson with the young woman he had come to adore. He had memorized every feature of her face this evening and he would implement them right away on the mannequin. He could never reveal his identity to the orphan, but he could still pretend to hold her in his arms. 

He immediately noticed the wet footprints outside of his house. By a quick assessment he concluded that the Daroga had invaded his home once again, despite the flooded passageway. The suspicion was confirmed when the Persian's wet shoes lay kicked off in the entrance. Erik fumed. It was disrespectful to act so carelessly in another man's house.

He rushed through every room to find the Persian, his catgut string twitching in his left sleeve. He would teach that brute some manners!

The thought quickly left him when he came upon his work room. The Daroga was lying in the middle of the room, his pants around his ankles and a bottle of absinthe next to him. Erik broke out in a laugh. He rarely laughed, but this was possibly the funniest thing he'd ever seen!

In a hurry he found his homemade camera, set it up on the tripod and took several photographs of the scene before him. The laugh never left him, but even then the Daroga didn't stir.

When he had finally decided that he had enough proof of what had happened, he packed it away to develop later. The Daroga had to leave now, no matter how intoxicated he was. Erik wanted to work on the mannequin while Christine's features were still fresh in his mind; he couldn't very well photograph her. 

Erik began to pull the Persian up from the carpet when he noticed a sticky wetness on the man's shirt. He didn't have to guess what it was. Disgusted, he let go of the Daroga who fell face first into the carpet again. Erik turned around where he, to his horror, saw his mannequin on the floor with a bloody broomstick between its legs. He turned back and noticed the blood spatters on Daroga's butt cheeks.

What on earth had possessed the Daroga? Had he gone mad? The mannequin wasn't even finished; it only had a layer of skin, no face, no nose. Much like a dried up corpse really... Realization hit Erik hard and he bent over to vomit. He hadn't eaten anything in a while, so he just ended up dry heaving. When it finally ceased, he took another disgusted look at the man on the carpet. 

With his considerable strength he rolled up the Daroga in the stained carpet and heaved him out of the room and out in front of his house. He threw the wet shoes out the door as well, almost hitting the unconscious man's face in the process. He hung a note on his front door and dead-bolted it to avoid the Persian entering when he finally woke up.

The note stated: _My body, my mannequin and my broom are_ not _for your pleasure._


End file.
